


The Blizzard

by sneetchstar



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Abbie is stranded at Ichabod's cabin due to a blizzard. Based on a Tumblr post.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post: "We knew each other, and one day last winter, I walked to her apartment to see her. I didn't know a blizzard was coming. I was stuck in her dorm for five days, and that's how it all started." And a shout-out to hermitelephant for her suggestions as well.

-Day One (Wednesday)-

"Miss Mills!" Crane exclaims, surprised. He couldn't believe someone was knocking on his door in the first place, and when he saw it was Abbie, he was stunned.

She is bundled under layers of clothing, snowflakes dotting her black coat like stars in the night sky.

She is also glaring at him something fierce beneath her hat.

"Come in, come in… what on earth are you doing out here, and… good heavens, did you _walk_?" he asks, helping her out of her coat.

"Yes, of course I _walked_ ," she snaps, pulling away from his grasp and re-securing her coat. "I walked from the nearest bus stop anyway, and I had to take a bus because _you_ still have my car!"

"But Miss—"

"Ah-ah…" she shushes him, holding her index finger up in his face in a gesture he so often favors. "I told you I needed my car back _today_ because I have an appointment tomorrow, and since you're not answering your damn phone—"

"Miss—"

"And since Jenny and Joe have the nerve to be on _vacation_ right now—"

"Abbie!" His voice finally rises enough to get her attention. She stops and gives him an expectant look. "Have you not seen the weather forecast?" he asks.

"So? It's just some snow. This is New York, and it's winter. There's going to be snow," she says.

"Ah. Just snow. Not a blizzard so large they felt the need to grant it a name, then?" he asks, going to the sink to fill the kettle while she stands there dripping melting snow on his welcome mat.

"Pssh," she blows, waving it off. "You're making tea?"

"Of course," he says. "You are chilled through, and I'll not have you leaving until you are sufficiently warm."

"I'm leaving now," she says. "Where are my keys?"

"Right beside you, but I would advise against it."

"God, you're such a drama queen sometimes," she says, snagging her keys. "I'll call you when I get home – if you can be bothered to answer your phone – so you can see that you're making a big deal about nothing." She disappears before he can explain why he hasn't been answering his phone.

He walks to the window and can barely make out her small shape heading towards her Jeep. She climbs in, starts the engine, and begins to pull out of his drive.

He waits.

A minute later, her Jeep returns, backing its way over the path it has just forged. She climbs out, slams the door, and she stomps back to the cabin.

He opens the door for her. "Welcome back, Miss Mills,"

"Okay, so it's a little worse than I thought it was," she admits, allowing him to help her remove her coat this time. She heaves a sigh as she yanks her hat off. "So I guess I'm stuck here for a while," she says, turning to look up at him. He's still right behind her and she has to lean her head all the way back to see him.

"You are welcome to spend the night," he says, hanging her coat on the rack. "Though there is a chance it may be longer."

 _Longer?_ "Thanks," she says, her anger slowly fading. "So why didn't you answer your phone?"

"The battery has died," he answers, returning to stand behind her. She's looking out of the window.

"And?"

"Miss Mills, I thought you were observant," he chides. He walks to the wall and flips the light switch up and down. Nothing.

"Ah," she says, wrapping her arms around herself. He was warm, standing so close.

"I did not notice it until it was almost drained. It was plugged in for precisely twelve minutes before the power went out," he remarks.

"I guess that explains the fire in the fireplace then."

"Well, I often enjoy the crackling coziness of a nice fire, but this time it is there out of necessity," he tells her. Then the kettle whistles. "Tea's on."

"Thank you," she quietly says, moving towards the fireplace.

Crane joins Abbie a minute later, carrying a tray laden with tea and a few other items. He sets it on the coffee table.

"Apple spice with honey," he says, handing her a mug.

"Thank you," she answers, surprised he paid enough attention to know her preference. She takes a sip and it is perfectly sweetened. "What's all this?" she waves at the tray.

He steps over to the fireplace and pulls out what looks like a metal shoebox on a stick. "Popcorn," he explains. He shows her the contraption. It is simply a metal box with a door on the top. There are openings in the door and a long handle is attached to one end. "This was my grandfather's. We used to go camping when I was a child and he would make popcorn over the fire."

 _Huh. He doesn't talk much about his family._ "Is this the grandfather you are named f— after whom you are named?" she asks, correcting herself mid-sentence to prevent him from being able to do so.

He snorts a small laugh. "Yes. Horrible name, but a splendid man," he answers, pouring a small measure of oil into the box, then a scoop of popcorn kernels. He crouches in front of the hearth, slides the box over the coals, and begins to gently shake it.

Abbie sets her tea on an end table, then stands. She pushes the coffee table away from the fire until it is right up against the couch.

"Miss Mills, what are you…?" Crane asks, looking up but not stopping his motions.

"You've got no heat, and your couch is narrow," she says, placing her hands on her hips. "I'm making us a nest." She walks into his room, returns with an armload of blankets, drops them on the floor, disappears, and reappears with pillows. "You got more?"

"Closet," he points with his head. A second later, a light _pop_ comes from the box on the fire. "Ah!"

"I heard that!" she exclaims, a surprising smile tugging the corners of her lips.

The popping noises increase while Abbie sets about piling blankets and pillows on the floor. "I should have you drag your mattress out here," she mumbles, sitting on the floor. "This isn't very cushy."

Crane pulls the popcorn maker out of the fire, opens the door with an oven mitt-covered hand, and dumps the contents into a bowl.

She scrambles over to look. "It actually worked. Cool."

He merely raises an eyebrow at her.

"Well, you know not everyone gets to go camping with their awesome grandfather," she points out. "So you'll pardon me for being a little surprised at your mad skills with antique popcorn making."

"Yes," he concedes, pouring a generous amount of butter-flavored popcorn salt over the top, then tossing it a few times to disperse. "Forgive me. Here." He offers her the bowl.

She takes a few kernels. "Mmm," she says, smiling again.

xXx

They eat two batches of popcorn. Abbie uses her phone to call the electric company to make sure they know the power is out. They do, and anticipate getting things working again sometime tomorrow "if the blizzard lets up enough for us to work".

He tells her more about his grandfather, and she regales him with Tales from Foster Care.

It was already late when Abbie arrived, and as midnight approaches, things start feeling a little awkward. "Um, do you have anything I can wear to sleep?" she asks. "If I'm going to be stuck here, I don't want to have to sleep in these," she adds, indicating her current outfit.

"Oh. Er, yes, I believe I can find something for you," he says, standing. "I don't have any of Katrina's old things here anymore, but I'm sure I can find… something…" he trails off, disappearing into his room.

Another surprise. He mentions his ex-fiancée even less frequently than his family. All Abbie knows is Katrina moved here with him, stayed about a year, and then something happened that resulted in her returning to England alone. Her engagement ring stayed stateside.

Crane returns a few minutes later dressed in some flannel pajama pants and a very old, soft-looking Henley shirt. He has a bundle of clothes in his arms. "You may use my room to change if you like," he says.

She stands and takes the stack. "I don't think I need all these," she says, laughing.

"I… I thought I might give you some options," he says.

 _Is he blushing?_ "Thanks," she says, scurrying away.

"I found a spare toothbrush," he calls. "It is next to the sink."

"Thanks again," she replies as the door closes.

Abbie looks at the clothes. A couple of shirts, a pair of shorts, some pajama pants. Even a pair of socks that look brand new. She sometimes forgets how thoughtful he can be. As she undresses, she ponders this. _I don't know why I forget it. He remembers everything. Knows what I like. Goes out of his way to be a gentleman._ She puts on the long sleeved shirt. It's very similar to the one he is wearing, only it hangs on her tiny frame like a dropcloth. She rolls up the sleeves, then picks up the pants.

 _There is no way these will stay on._ Slender as he is, he's still much bigger than she. The shorts are just as bad. "Oh well," she says. The shirt hangs halfway down her thighs anyway, so she simply shrugs and pulls on the socks. They are long woolen things that reach up to her knees. "I guess they'll do in lieu of pants," she mutters, walking into the bathroom.

There is a brand new toothbrush on the counter, still in the package.

Meanwhile, Crane putters about while he waits for Abbie, cleaning things up and piling more wood on the fire. He's fairly certain he has enough to get through the night, but he's going to have to venture out again in the morning for more.

He stares down at the "nest" on the floor, knowing they are going to have to sleep in close contact to stay warm.

"Hey." Her voice draws him from his musings, breaking into his thoughts before he can even reach a decision on how to best broach the subject of preserving body heat with Miss Mills. "We're going to have to… you know…" She vaguely gestures to the pillows and blankets on the follow

"Share body heat?" he suggests, turning. He isn't prepared for the sight of her. He's always found her attractive – who wouldn't? – but seeing her wearing one of _his_ shirts and little else renders him temporarily speechless. What's worse is he cannot tear his eyes away from the segment of bare skin between the tops of the socks and the hem of his shirt.

"Crane?"

"Oh." He finds the will to move his gaze to her face. She's braided her hair as well.

"The shorts and pants were too big," she explains.

"I feared they might be," he replies.

She takes a step closer. A yawn escapes.

"Oh, dear, you must be exhausted," he says. He kneels down, then holds his hand out to her. She takes it and allows him to draw her down onto the floor.

He lies down and she tucks herself in front of him, her back to his chest. "This is weird," she says, reaching down to make sure the shirt is covering her.

"Yes," he agrees. His hand tentatively lands on her hip, and she feels his fingers twitch. "Goodnight, Miss Mills."

"Goodnight, Crane." She closes her eyes, and finds herself acutely aware of his presence behind her. It's distracting, but he's warm. "You know, _Ichabod,_ you can call me Abbie. Since we're sleeping together."

He snorts a laugh, then says, "In that case, goodnight, _Abbie_."

-Day Two (Thursday)-

Ichabod stirs, the weak light of morning slowly bringing him to consciousness. He is vaguely aware of something pleasantly soft and warm pressed up against him and his mattress feels curiously hard.

He slowly blinks awake and remembers. He's not in his bed; he's on the floor. And the enticing bundle in his arms is Miss Abigail Mills, his stranded guest. He looks down at the crown of her head, tucked down into the covers, and wonders how she can breathe like that. She shifts a little, then sighs, and the blanket slips a bit, revealing a shoulder bared by the overly-large collar of a shirt much too big for her.

His eyes are drawn to her skin, the smoothness of it, how it glows even in the bleak winter dawn that paints everything gray. He wonders what it would feel like under his fingers. His lips.

 _Snap out of it,_ he chides himself. He exhales, and the puff of steam escaping his lips makes him realize how cold it has grown in the cabin. He decides a little bit of bracing winter air is just the thing he needs right now, and gently slips out of the cozy cocoon he had been sharing with Abbie. He carefully tucks the blankets back around her, not wishing for her to get too cold in his absence.

Crane walks to the fireplace and extends a hand forward. It's still slightly warm, but he needs more wood from the box outside in order to truly re-kindle it. He quickly bundles up, then opens the door, slipping outside as quickly as possible.

After shoveling out the front of the wood box so he can open it, he takes several trips through the knee-deep snow, piling all the wood on the porch. Thankfully, the wind has kept the porch mostly clear, even though the snow is still steadily falling. Once the wood box is empty, he trudges to the shed, where he knows he has a few more pieces of scrap lumber stashed. After a moment's thought, he takes a wooden pallet from the floor of the shed and lugs it to the porch as well.

Just in case.

He picks up an armload of wood and re-enters the house, deciding he can get the rest after Abbie is awake and the fire is sufficiently warm again.

He tries to be as quiet as possible, glancing over at her sleeping form after every sound that seems a little too loud, but she doesn't stir. _She must be a deep sleeper._

He makes his way back over and immediately notices she is shivering now. "Oh, dear," he murmurs, and quickly gets the fire going again. He thinks about putting a kettle on the stove, but chooses to return to their makeshift bed to warm Abbie back up again.

He flips the blanket back just enough to slide in next to her and she immediately hones in on him, seeking out his warmth in her sleep. She is facing him now, cuddled against his chest, and his arm comes around her, holding her. He's a little chilled as well, having been outside, but finds he is quickly warming.

His hand moves, trying to smooth the rumpled shirt beneath his palm, and his fingers accidentally make contact with her skin. He jolts into complete stillness, his hand hovering, not sure what to do.

He's not entirely sure which part of her skin he's just encountered.

He settles for moving his hand up and resting it on her back, where she is still covered.

Abbie's shivering ceases fairly quickly, and when she sighs and snuggles against him, he allows his eyes to close again, though he knows sleep is futile now.

xXx

"When did you get up?" Abbie mumbles, finally waking some time later. She squirms a little but does not move from his embrace.

"Just after dawn. It was freezing in here, so I got the fire going again," he answers.

"Oh," she answers, not fully awake. She closes her eyes, then opens them again. "There was no more wood."

"I went out and got some from the box outside," he explains.

"It stopped snowing?"

"No. In fact, I think it has recently increased its efforts." She keeps shifting and squirming but does not seem interested in removing herself from his arms. It is becoming quite distracting.

Abbie wants to move, but she feels rather heavy and surprisingly content lying here with him. She always thought of him as a scrawny scarecrow of a man, but he's remarkably warm and comfortable. _A cuddly scarecrow._ She smiles, actually giggling a bit.

"What is it you find so amusing, Miss Mills?" he asks, unable to stop his own smile.

"You're pretty cuddly for a scarecrow," she says, laughing into his chest.

"A _scarecrow,_ am I?" he huffs in mock offense. On impulse, he pokes her in the ribs, and she yelps.

"Ah! No, don't…" she says, leaning slightly back but still laughing. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't attempt another jab. "I simply meant that you're a pretty skinny dude, so I am surprised at how comfortable you are."

"I'm not as scrawny as I appear. My long limbs give me a rather lanky appearance," he explains.

Her fingers unconsciously curl into his chest. "Yeah," she agrees. Her voice comes out a little breathier than she would have liked in reaction to discovering some quite nice pectoral muscles beneath that shirt. "Um, I should get up… need to… you know, nature…" she says, finally beginning to move away from him.

"Of course," he says, relaxing his hold on her to allow her to leave.

She begins to stand and he doesn't avert his gaze in time to avoid seeing her bare hip and a generous portion of her backside.

He doesn't know if she realizes she was exposed like that, but he takes care to be facing the other way until he hears the bedroom door close.

xXx

Thankfully, Crane has a gas stove, which allows them to cook. He boils water for tea while she changes; she scrambles them some eggs while he dresses.

Abbie's phone battery lives long enough for them to both call and report (to no one's surprise) that they will not be able to make it to their respective jobs, for Abbie to receive a call stating her appointment is cancelled today, and for Crane to call the electric company again. "Hopefully by tonight," is what he was told this time.

Time passes slowly. They bring the rest of the wood in so it stays dry. Lunch is grilled cheese sandwiches and chips, and then they sit across the table and stare at each other for a few minutes.

"Do you have any games?" Abbie suddenly asks.

Ichabod brightens up, an intrigued look on his face. "I don't suppose you play chess, do you?"

"I do," she counters. "Surprised?"

He cocks his head to the side. "Now that I think about it, no," he answers. He stands and goes to a the front closet. Abbie follows.

"Crane! You've got all kinds of games in here!" she exclaims. "I never pegged you for a board game guy."

"Courtesy of the previous resident of this cabin, I'm afraid," he answers, withdrawing his chess set. "This," he holds up the box, "is mine. I cannot take credit for the other games. I've given thought to tossing them or donating them, but haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Good thing, too," she says, surveying the boxes. Operation. Uno. Several decks of cards. Monopoly. Something called Rack-O. Twister. "Holy shit, Twister," she mutters, her mind reeling at that prospect.

Crane wins the first game of chess. He is so ridiculously smug about it, Abbie demands a rematch.

In truth, she spent the first game watching him, learning how he plays. She wins the next two games.

"Let us try one of these others, shall we?" he asks, standing.

She laughs. "Can't take it, hey?"

"Oh, this," he points a finger at the chess board, drawing circles in the air over it, "is by no means finished. But we have all day – perhaps longer – so I am merely suggesting a change of pace.”

"That's your story?"

"It is."

"Fair enough. You pick then," she says, gesturing to the closet. He wanders over and she packs up the chess board to make room for whatever he chooses.

"This 'Uno' looks interesting," he says.

"You've never played Uno?" she asks.

"I am not familiar with any of those games save the decks of playing cards. I have heard of Monopoly, but have never played it," he admits.

"That's right. You did things like go _camping_ and other healthy outdoor activities suitable for rich British kids," she teases.

"Quite," he tersely answers, sitting.

It turns out Crane is quite good at Uno. Or lucky, which Abbie decides is more likely. They lose count of how many games they play, but they eventually decide to tackle another.

Operation turns out to be a disaster. Half the pieces are missing and Crane has no 'D' batteries.

Monopoly starts out well, but as is almost always the case with Monopoly, it begins turning ugly after about an hour. Soon after that, Crane stands, scoops up the entire game, and walks to the front door, brightly colored fake money trailing after him.

Abbie watches with a combination of disbelief and amusement as he opens the front door and pitches the entire game out into the snow with a grumbled curse.

When he closes the door and turns back to face her, he suddenly realizes how infantile his actions just were. He opens his mouth to apologize, but is cut off by her laughter.

"Oh. My. God…" she gasps, laughing. "That was the best thing I've ever seen!" She collapses with laughter, her head falling to the table. She pops right back up with an, "Ow." She picks up a green plastic house and tosses it at him, still chuckling. When he walks to the fireplace and throws it in, Abbie's laughter starts anew.

"Let us try this 'Rack-O' game," he declares.

"All right," she agrees.

He declares it stupid and infantile after one game.

"Why don't we find some dinner?" Abbie suggests. The only thing left in the closet is Twister.

"Yes," Crane agrees, and when his eyes dart to the closet, she thinks he's come to the same realization.

He is cooking a couple of hamburgers in a frying pan when suddenly things around them start beeping and coming to life. The table lamp comes on. The furnace fires to life with a _whoosh._

"Finally!" Abbie sighs.

"I was beginning to worry about our wood supply," Crane says. "I have a spare power cord if you wish to charge your phone," he offers. "It's in the desk drawer."

"Thanks," she says. She looks out of the window. "Still snowing."

"It is," he concurs. "Shall we… clean up our 'nest' now that we have no need of it?" he asks. He actually seems a little reluctant.

Surprisingly, so is she. "Yeah, I guess."

Once his bed is re-made and the extra blankets are put away, Abbie stares at the open space on the living room floor. _Do I dare suggest it? Maybe with a little liquid courage…_ "Hey, Crane," she calls, "you got any… adult refreshments in this pla— oh, I see you do."

He is already walking in with a bottle and two glasses. "We are of a mind, I see," he declares, setting the items on the table. She notices he doesn't push it back to its original location.

He pours them each a drink. They clink glasses and down the burning brown liquid.

"Twister, then," she declares, her voice a little raspy from the strong rum.

He nods, his eyebrow quirking up just slightly. She walks to the closet and retrieves it.

"I will admit I have heard tell of this game as well," he says, watching with interest as she spreads out the plastic sheet on the floor. His eyes linger over her backside a little longer than what would be considered proper, drawing his mind back to this morning and the glimpse he caught of this part of her. He pours them each another shot.

"I thought you might have, considering you brought out the booze," she says, attempting to chuckle. It comes out as a nervous giggle. She takes her glass and drinks.

 _Playing Twister with someone twice your size is a bit of a problem,_ Abbie hazily thinks some time later, finding herself beneath him, again, trying not to collapse, again, willing him not to collapse on top of her, _again._

"Hang on… I need to… spin this… bloody…" Crane grunts, reaching for the spinner. "Right foot, yellow," he says. "Oh, dear."

They try to maneuver themselves to get their right feet onto a yellow circle. Crane slips, shouts, and topples, trapping Abbie beneath him.

"Oof!" she exclaims, pinned. She starts laughing.

"Sorry," he apologizes, joining her laughter as he flips his hair out of his face. "I…" Their laughter stops. Her face is very close to his. His eyes flicker to her lips and back up again. He clears his throat.

"We should try chess again," she says, deflecting, trying to convince herself she _doesn't_ want him to kiss her. That she doesn't want to kiss him. Telling herself it must be the alcohol, though her head is still rather clear.

"If that is what you desire," he answers, planting his hands and pushing up and away from her.

 _It isn't_ , she realizes and bites her lower lip, disappointed in both of them.

She is off her game this time, and he takes the series of three. "Victory is mine," he declares, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head.

"Well, you had to get me drunk to succeed," she replies, smirking at him. "Plus I'm tired."

"We should… retire," he suggests. "It is late."

Abbie notices that he doesn't say "go to bed", but doesn't allow herself to dwell on it. She's not ready to face the Thing that has been brewing just under the surface of her skin since this morning.

Crane stands and waits for her to join him. They get as far as the living room, and she decides to address the elephant in the room. "I'm not sleeping on the couch," she says, turning to face him.

"Oh?"

"Like I said last night, it's narrow. It's also lumpy. We slept together on the floor last night, so what's the big deal, right? You've got a big bed," she says, trying to keep her tone light.

"Right," he tightly agrees, staring down at her far too intently. "No 'big deal' at all," he echoes. "I will simply… wait out here while you change," he says.

"Okay," she quietly answers. _That was easier than I expected._ "Thanks."

xXx

Abbie lies awake for a while that night. They aren't huddled together like the previous night, because there is no need. She can't help noticing Crane looks like a corpse, on his back with his hands on his chest. _He cannot be sleeping like that. No one sleeps like that._

She is fairly certain he is still awake. She is also fairly certain she wants to snuggle him like she was last night, even though the heat is functioning fine in the cabin.

She makes a decision. She flips over so she is facing him, but keeps her eyes closed so he will hopefully think she is just turning in her sleep. Then she curls against his side. He stiffens.

A moment later, he moves, lifting his arm to allow her to rest her head on his shoulder. When she feels his body relax, she smiles and drifts off to sleep.

-Day Three (Friday)-

Abbie wakes first. Her back is now to Ichabod, but he's wrapped around her from behind, one arm around her middle, one leg over hers. He is still very much asleep, but part of him is very much awake.

Barely conscious, she flexes her hips backwards into him without even thinking about it. When he groans, presses back, and moves his hand higher to brush against the bottom of her breast, she realizes what she's done and is suddenly extremely alert.

"Shit," she whispers, and carefully peels herself out of his embrace. She stares down at him for a minute, noting how his normally very active and expressive face looks so peaceful and carefree in sleep, and it finally hits her how handsome he is. She always figured that women tended to fawn over him because of his gentlemanly manners and English accent (not to mention that _voice_ of his). And while those are all very nice qualities, as she looks at him and thinks of how he has been nothing but hospitable during their forced cohabitation, how he is clever and funny and unbelievably smart, and how he's a cuddly scarecrow with a very handsome face, she thinks maybe this blizzard isn't such a bad thing after all.

Crane stirs in his sleep, blindly groping with one hand as though he is looking for her. Abbie leans down and brushes his hair away from his forehead, toying with the idea of leaning down and kissing it. He sighs, settles back in, and she loses her nerve.

Then she remembers that they have hot water again and decides to take a shower.

xXx

"I do hope you left some hot water for me," Ichabod's voice greets Abbie as she emerges from the bathroom. She has stolen another one of his shirts which she has knotted at the waist to keep from being too long.

She really didn't want to put her same jeans back on again, but there was nothing for it. However, she was glad she hand-washed her panties in the sink last night, so at least they are clean again.

"I did," she answers, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms. "I also borrowed some lotion." It's just basic stuff, but it is sufficient.

"Your hair is different," he says, standing. He's used to seeing it in flowing waves, not in the riot of tight ringlets currently surrounding her head.

"This is what it looks like when I don't have access to my own things," she says.

"It's quite fetching," he assesses, smiling.

She can't help but return his smile. "It'll do," she chuckles. "I do have to say I was surprised to see you have coconut oil in your pantry."

"Ah, well that is only because you have never been treated to the full extent of my culinary skills, Miss Mills," he explains.

"Ooo, is that a promise?" she asks.

"Perhaps after this blizzard is over. I'm afraid I would need to visit the market before being able to prepare a meal that would do you justice," he answers, then brushes past her and into the bathroom, his eyes never leaving her face until he has passed.

_Was he just flirting with me?_

She stands for a moment, dumbfounded, until she decides it doesn't really matter because she has half a mind to start flirting with _him_ anyway. She shrugs and heads to the kitchen to see about breakfast.

xXx

They decide to have Movie Day.

"What better opportunity to watch all of _Lord of the Rings_?" Abbie suggests, and Crane cannot disagree.

They get halfway through _The Two Towers_ and decide to break for lunch, which is some soup Crane had taken out of his freezer the night before. Then they decide to continue watching while they eat.

Before they begin _Return of the King,_ Crane notices the snow is letting up.

"Should we shovel some before it gets too dark?" Abbie asks.

He bites back his initial reflex, which is to say "No!" If they shovel, that means she might be able to leave, and he's no longer certain how he feels about that. "That is probably a good idea," he agrees.

They bundle up and head outside. Crane had placed a couple of snow shovels on the porch when he moved the wood, so they would be at hand.

"You don't have a snowblower?" Abbie asks, choosing one.

"If I did, we would have to shovel our way to the shed to fetch it," he points out, shoveling his way down the porch steps.

"Well, it's good exercise anyway," she says, joining him.

He snorts in reply as he clears one side of the path.

They work side by side for longer than either of them would like, often having to shovel down in layers in order to reach the ground. They dig out Abbie's SUV, and she starts it up just to run the motor for a little bit.

By the time they finish, the snow has dwindled quite a bit, and they've managed to clear the drive all the way to the road.

The decidedly un-plowed road, which is covered in snow reaching nearly to Abbie's waist.

"Damn," Abbie says, looking at it. "This is actually impressive."

Ichabod steps up beside her. "Listen."

She falls silent, listening for several seconds. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," he replies. "Normally you can hear the highway from here. I do not hear a single motorized sound."

"Wow," she exhales, a puff of steam escaping her lips.

"This must have been what it was like hundreds of years ago," he muses, his voice hushed, almost reverent. "No cars, no trucks. I do not even hear any airplanes overhead. Only the sound of the wind in the trees. Even the animals are silenced by the snowfall."

She smiles up at him, watching his rapt face as he speaks. His nose and cheeks are pink and there are small icicles in his beard. His hat is askew and covered in gradually-melting snow.

He looks adorable.

He notices her staring. "What?"

"Your nose is red. We should go inside," she says.

"Well, you look like a snow princess, Miss Mills," he replies, fondly gazing down at her. She looks radiant and glowing with exertion, and there are snowflakes resting in her curls where they spread out under her hat. He offers his arm. "My lady?"

She laughs and takes his arm.

Inside, Crane makes cocoa instead of tea for them. Abbie decides to rummage through his dresser to see if she can find _something_ to wear now that her jeans are pretty much soaked. She finally finds a pair of pajama pants with a drawstring instead of elastic, and puts them on, rolling up the bottoms. She also steals a pair of socks and a sweatshirt.

When she comes out and finds him still unchanged, she tells him, "We need to get you out of those clothes."

"Beg pardon?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

She laughs. "Go change before you catch a chill," she says. "I'll get the movie set up."

He looks her up and down and decides he very much likes how she looks in his clothes. "I forgot I had those trousers," he mutters, walking towards his room.

xXx

"I wish we could order a pizza. I could _use_ a pizza," Abbie says.

"Oh, that does sound good," Ichabod agrees. "Or Chinese food."

"Stop…" she moans. "Not that this chicken isn't very good, of course," she adds, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"Thank you, but do not feel you need to soothe my ego. I am in complete agreement with you," he says.

"You know what else I want?" she asks, looking up at him. His eyes widen just a little. "Ice cream. Weird, huh?"

He laughs. "I'm afraid I cannot accommodate you there," he sighs.

She stands. "I guess I'll settle for another beer then," she replies. "You?"

"Please," he answers.

"I can't believe you don't have ice cream," she mutters, retrieving two bottles. She brings them to the table and passes one to him. Her hand slips when she attempts to open hers and she winds up cutting her finger on the serrated edge of the bottle cap. She hisses in pain and sucks her injured finger.

"Oh dear," Crane says. "I'll fetch a bandage from the apothecary drawer." He dashes off, leaving Abbie half-smiling over the phrase "apothecary drawer". He returns a moment later with a bandage. "Here," he says, holding his hand out.

Abbie had expected him to simply hand her the band-aid. Bemused, she offers her hand and watches with interest as he carefully wraps the bandage around her injured finger.

"There we are," he declares, and goes to throw away the wrapper.

"Thank you," she answers, touched by his care more than she thought she would be.

xXx

"I cannot watch any more television," Crane declares, rubbing his eyes. They had paused _Return of the King_ to eat dinner, and have just finished it. "I fear visions of Hobbits will be dancing in my head whilst I slumber."

Abbie laughs and turns the TV off. "What should we do?" she asks, sitting next to him on the couch. They had somehow managed to get rather cozy on his sofa, sharing a blanket. She even leaned against him a few times and he seemed perfectly at ease with her proximity.

"Chess?" he asks, still eager for another rematch.

"Too tired; too cozy," she says, stretching. She's a bit stiff from shoveling.

"Right," he slowly says, nodding as though he doesn't believe her.

She laughs and hits him with a pillow. Then a ridiculous idea occurs to her. "You ever play Truth or Dare?"

His brow furrows. "No, but I can guess at the premise," he answers.

She nods. "If you choose Truth, you have to _truthfully_ answer any question I ask, and—"

"And if I choose Dare, I must comply with whatever challenge you pose," he completes.

"Right," she smiles, settling on the opposite end of the couch from him. "Do you want me to go first?"

"No, no, I'm game to try. I will choose Dare," he says.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oho, look at you," she says. She thinks a minute, then grins and says, "I dare you to twerk."

"To what now?" he asks.

"Twerk. I know you know what it is."

"Oh, dear," he says, rising. He bends his knees and makes a valiant, if awkward attempt, while Abbie falls over laughing.

"Woo!" she hollers, applauding him. "That was easily the… whitest thing I've ever seen," she laughs. "But props to you for giving it your all." _He actually has a pretty nice butt_ , she has to admit.

"Thank you," he says. His face is pink with embarrassment, but he cannot help smiling. "I believe it is your turn."

"Truth," she says, lifting her chin.

"Who was your first kiss and when was it?" he asks

She laughs. "Andy Brooks. Third grade, on the playground at recess. We got married next to the jungle gym. Then he left me for Sophie Foster the next week," she says. "I was heartbroken."

He huffs a short laugh. "Charming," he replies. "And Mr. Brooks' loss."

"Oh, it didn't take long for me to decide boys were yucky. At least until seventh grade and Luke Morales," she adds. "Your turn again."

"I shall also take Truth," he says.

"What happened with Katrina?" she asks, serious now.

He pauses. "May I change to Dare?" he asks.

"No backsies," she says. "Come on. I want to know. I won't go spreading your business around town, you know that, right?" she gently adds.

"I know," he says with a sigh. "She… well, it turned out she never wanted to come here in the first place. She only agreed to placate me, thinking I would sour on the idea once I experienced American culture first-hand," he says, staring at the floor. "When the exact opposite happened—"

"Wait, wait, you're saying _this_ ," she waves her hands up and down in his general direction, "is you fully embracing American culture? _You_ , Mister I-Refuse-To-Make-Tea-With-Teabags-And-Do-Not-Even-Mention-Iced-Tea-In-My-Presence?"

"Point taken," he says with a short laugh. "But yes, I acculturated much better than she did, and… she was so convinced we would return to England inside of three months that she refused to even attempt to find a job. She chose to spend her days here, in isolation, while I flourished out in the world, turning that travesty of a museum into something of which I can be proud."

"Big changes can test relationships," Abbie says.

"Indeed. When her self-imposed three-month grace period ended, she gave me an ultimatum," he continues.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. And I think you know how that turned out. It… wasn't as difficult a decision as it should have been. We had been drifting apart for a while."

"I'm sorry," she says, reaching over and putting her hand over his.

He looks down. Her hand looks so tiny atop his and he smiles. "I'm… not. If we could not endure that trial, we were not meant to wed," he says. "It took me nearly a solid year to realize that, but here I am, on the other side, a better man."

"That almost sounded like an Adele lyric," Abbie says, smiling and withdrawing her hand.

He laughs. "'Hello from the other side', indeed," he quotes. "So now you know. And now that I've told you, I do not know why I was so reluctant to share. It feels good to share it with you."

"I'm glad," she says.

"Your turn."

"I will take… Dare," Abbie decides.

Ichabod looks at her, deciding if he should – if he _can_ – offer the dare he was keeping under his vest for her. _Just do it._ "I dare you to kiss me," he softly challenges.

Her eyes widen slightly. "I'll take Truth," she hedges. While she's secretly glad he posed the dare – she may have even given it to him if he hadn't – she feels a sudden, unexpected trepidation settle over her.

"Ah-ah," he tuts, arching an eyebrow at her. "I believe it was you who called 'No backsies' when I attempted that tactic. Now kiss me."

 _All right. This is happening._ "Okay," she whispers, scooting closer to him. She leans towards him. "God, I feel like I'm in high school," she giggles, her head dropping for a second before she composes herself again. Then, she leans up and quickly kisses his cheek above his beard, mentally castigating herself for being a coward.

"Oh, surely you can do better than that," he goads, hoping to disguise the fact that the mere touch of her soft lips on his cheek sent a thrill through him.

"You didn't specify," she says. Honestly, she doesn't know why she didn't kiss his lips. She wants to. She really does.

"A kiss on the cheek is hardly worth the effort for a _dare_ , don't y—"

She silences his argument with her lips. She moved swiftly enough that he was caught off guard, but the kiss is soft and far too brief.

"Oh," he croaks, blinking in surprise. "I…"

"Your turn," she says, ignoring the fact that her body temperature seems to have risen ten degrees from just that small kiss.

"Dare," he replies, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

Abbie pauses, then enticingly bites her lower lip and beckons him towards her, crooking her finger at him.

Ichabod doesn't need any further explanation. But instead of diving right back in, he moves slowly, deliberately. Like a predator.

She watches him approach, slowly releasing her lower lip, enjoying how the small action draws his gaze. "You _were_ flirting with me this morning," she says, leaning back as he prowls over her.

He simply nods, then claims her lips in a kiss that very nearly makes her see stars. "Two nights, Abbie," he whispers between searing kisses. " _Two_ _nights_ of sleeping beside you wearing nothing but one of my shirts." He deeply kisses her, and she moans, her fingers sliding into his hair. "Not even a blessed pair of _underpants_ , Abbie," he growls low. He leans back slightly and looks into her eyes. "That's just cruel."

She giggles, unable to come up with a snappy comeback. _He's simply too adorable._ Instead, she pulls him back down for another kiss. Her hands roam, learning the feel of his wavy hair, the prickly-soft texture of his beard, and the long sinewy muscles of his upper body while her lips discover how well his fit against hers.

He lifts his head again. "I have tremendously enjoyed your company as well," he says.

This time, Abbie laughs, a full, surprised laugh. "Sorry," she apologizes. "That just seemed like a really… polite thing to say in the middle of a makeout session."

He chuckles and pecks her lips. "I did not want you to think that my attraction to you is based purely on physical urges," he explains.

"No, it's based on me sleeping without panties," she teases. He opens his mouth to protest and she gently places her fingers over his parted lips. "I know it's not just physical," she clarifies. "You wouldn't do that."

He lowers his head again, finding her irresistible. "Neither would you," he murmurs against her lips before fully connecting them in another kiss.

xXx

"Oh…" Abbie leans her head back as Ichabod trails kisses down her neck, skimming over her collarbone, then moves lower, to her breasts. She arches under him, her hands gripping the sheets.

After they had rolled off the couch, nearly breaking the coffee table in the process, they decided to move to the bedroom. Clothes went flying, the bedclothes were unceremoniously tugged back, and they tumbled to the bed in a tangle of long and short limbs.

Ichabod kisses, licks and sucks at Abbie's breasts, his attention bordering on worshipful. He murmurs in between kisses, uttering little words and phrases she can't quite hear, but they still bring a smile to her lips. She had wondered if he was as talkative in bed as he is while clothed, and now she has her answer.

Her smile turns into a gentle laugh, and he lifts his head to raise an eyebrow at her.

"Chatterbox," she says, softly raking her fingers through his tousled hair.

He snorts a small laugh, then kisses her between her breasts. "I shall find a better way to occupy my mouth then," he replies, his voice a delicious promise backed up by the slow trail he begins kissing down her torso.

He mutters something when he reaches her stomach, and Abbie can only make out the words "condom" and "drawer". She reaches over, yanks the drawer open and gropes inside for a condom. She finds what is likely the box, and lifts it out, checking the expiration date before taking out a packet, which she sets beside her on the bed.

"Got it," she breathes just before he closes his mouth over her. "Oh!" she gasps, squirming. "Oh, _shit_ , Crane…"

He hums, his lips and tongue sucking and circling, nearly making her see stars. She has trouble staying still. Her hands don't know where to land; they clutch the sheets, then tug his hair before moving to her breasts.

 _His tongue would make an atheist see God._ "Ohhhh…" she moans long and low. Then he slides one of his long fingers into her, and she cries out.

He adds a second finger, curving them to hit the right spot, stroking along with his tongue, bringing her right to the precipice. She gasps, her breathing rapid and shallow.

Then he backs off, places a kiss on her inner thigh, and begins moving back up her body, unable to erase his smile while he drops kisses in random places over her body.

"Smug bastard," Abbie says, but there is no rancor in her voice at all. In fact, she's having trouble keeping the smile from her face.

"Mmm." Ichabod kisses her, reaching for the condom. "I am not finished with you yet, my treasure," he says, gently nipping her lower lip.

"Better not be," she answers, taking the condom from him and rolling it over his length, noting how the rumors about tall, skinny men with big hands and feet seems to hold true. At least it does in his case.

"Oh, I like that," he rumbles, watching. Then he slides down into place, moving her legs to wrap high around his waist, and drops his hips.

A breathy grunt escapes her lips as she takes him in, enjoying every second, every centimeter.

He begins thrusting, moving with his customary masculine grace in long, languid strokes. He occasionally bends his back, unable to leave those glorious, parted lips un-kissed. He moves one hand to caress her breast, never breaking his rhythm.

"Ichabod," she breathes his name, reaching up to his face, trailing her fingers down his chest and stomach before moving around to his backside, which she squeezes.

"Oh, Abbie," he pants, "you have no idea how often I have – mmm – thought of this," he leans down and kisses her again, "with you."

"What?" she gasps, opening her eyes in surprise.

"Or for – oh – how long," he admits. "You are amazing, Abbie… Aphrodite herself would be… oh, yes…"

"Talk later, Ichabod," she says, pulling him back down and kissing him deeply. "Ah…" She turns her head to the side and clutches his shoulders, her entire body tightening around him. "Oh… oh… _oh_!"

His climax hits on the tail end of hers, and he clamps his lips over hers in a scorching kiss, kissing her through it, his whole body still as he releases.

Abbie wraps her arms around Ichabod's shoulders when he collapses over her, and they lie there together until their heartbeats and breathing slow.

He rolls to the side, cleans himself up, then pulls her against him. She reaches down and brings the blankets up over them both.

"What was that you were saying about Aphrodite?" she asks after a minute, smiling up at him.

He laughs and kisses her forehead. "You are a goddess, Miss Mills. That is all there is to it."

-Day Four (Saturday)-

Crane groans, slowly awakening, feeling… exquisite. Weightless, though something is definitely weighing him down.

He's pinned to the mattress by something, but…

"Oh…" He groans again, blinking his eyes open to see Abbie's head moving just below his waist. Her lips and tongue are sinfully skilled as they slide along his length, alternating between sucking and licking. Her hand slips between his thighs, squeezing lightly, and he rasps out her name. "Abbie…"

"Good morning," she releases him only long enough to speak these two words.

"Oh, indeed," he agrees, his head pressing back into the pillow, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the blizzard that stranded her here with him.

She sucks him in as deep as she can, moving her hand up to wrap her fingers around the rest of his shaft. She feels his hand groping for her, his fingers just brushing her hip, so she moves just enough for him to reach her.

His hand closes over her backside, squeezing the cheek as he croaks out, "Abbie… I'm going to…" he warns, giving her an opportunity to stop if she wants to.

She merely hums, continuing on, sucking until he comes a moment later. She is ready for it and swallows, then gently kisses the tip before dropping another on his belly. She shifts and lays her head on his chest. "Couldn't resist," she confesses, turning her face to kiss his neck.

"You will receive no complaints from me," he replies, smiling down at her.

"Good, because I don't do that for just _anyone_ ," she says.

He carefully tugs her higher to kiss her lips. "Certainly hope not," he says, then kisses her again.

She nuzzles his neck and says, "Well, when I woke up to find you poking me in the ass, I realized several options were open to me." He laughs and she adds, "When you rolled onto your back my decision was made for me." She kisses him. "It stopped you from snoring, too," she whispers.

"I do not snore!" he declares, affronted.

"Don't you?" she challenges, angling her head.

"Well… no one has ever mentioned it before… oh, except perhaps Abraham, but I always assumed he was merely needling me," he admits.

"Abraham? You got a secret past or something?" She's never heard him mention anyone named Abraham before.

"He was my roommate at University," he explained. "We are… no longer in contact," he adds, somewhat evasively.

A lightbulb goes on over Abbie's head. "He's with Katrina now," she guesses.

"Yes," he answers. Then he looks down at her. "Somehow, it stings less now. I cannot imagine why that would be," he comments, unable to hide his smile.

She returns his smile and leans up to give him one more kiss before slipping out of bed.

"Where are you going?" he asks, sitting up so he can better enjoy the view.

"Shower," she answers. "You coming or not?"

Crane flies out of bed and immediately follows. "Hopefully soon," he cheekily replies.

xXx

After a rather decadent shower, they decide to go out and finish up the shoveling. A little more snow had fallen, and the wind caused drifts, so there was plenty to do.

The road still hasn't been plowed, but neither of them can drum up any real ire over it.

Not now that they have found a very diverting activity. Even so, when they go inside, Crane calls the Public Works department to see when the street might be cleared while Abbie makes cocoa.

"They said, 'Hopefully sometime today'," he reports, taking his mug from her outstretched hands. He catches one and kisses it.

She merely shrugs in response. "I wish I had more clothes, but I'm no longer in any hurry to leave," she says. They walk over to the couch and sit together.

"You do look quite fetching in mine," he assesses. Her jeans were wet again after being outside, but instead of simply throwing them in the dryer again, Ichabod started a load of laundry. Abbie added all her clothes to it and is currently wearing one of his Henley shirts and a pair of socks, also his.

"You're only saying that because you've seen what's under them now," she teases.

"I've always found you to be stunningly beautiful, Abbie," he admits. "From the moment I first saw you, last year at Master Corbin's birthday party." He sips his cocoa. "You were laughing with Miss Jenny, wearing a gray v-neck shirt that fit you _quite_ well," he remembers, closing his eyes. "Black jeans that fit you like a second skin. Your hair was shorter then."

"So was yours," she replies. Then she laughs. "Jenny commented we had matching hairstyles, remember?"

"Of course I remember," he chuckles. "I might have asked you out after the party, but the sting of Katrina's departure was still too new."

"I would have turned you down," she answers.

"Ah. Right. Mr. Riggs," he nods. "Then, I believe there was another… Reynolds?"

"Danny," she nods, then shakes her head. "He was a mistake."

"Dating coworkers often is," he says. She opens her mouth, thinking he is judging her, but he holds his hand up. "Speaking from experience," he explains.

"Oh, right. I had forgotten about her. Mousy thing. What was her name?" Abbie asks.

"Zoe," Crane answers. "She moved to Chicago to work at the Field Museum."

"Because of what happened between you?"

"She claimed not. But it was convenient timing," he replies. "And it was more about what _didn't_ happen between us that was the problem," he adds as he raises his mug to his lips.

"And what was that?" she goads, curious.

His cheeks turn pink. " _That_ was what you and I have already done thrice over," he replies.

"Thrice? I only count twice. And a half," she counters, smirking playfully.

He sets his mug on the coffee table. "We shall have to remedy this situation immediately then," he says, gently lifting her cup from her hands and setting it beside his before sliding his hands up her thighs, pushing her shirt out of the way.

"We don't have to keep score you know—oh!" Abbie's joking turns into a gasp as he pulls her legs, positioning her where he wants her. She giggles at the feel of his beard against her thighs, but when his tongue darts out, flicking against her, she gasps again.

xXx

Ichabod's large hands grip Abbie's backside, his fingers slightly digging in to the firm yet yielding flesh as he thrusts into her, kneeling behind her.

"Oh…" she gasps, burying her face in the pillow in front of her.

After the interlude on the couch, they had decided to move their activities back to the bedroom, where they had more space.

He leans forward and presses a kiss against her spine, moving his right hand around to touch her, his long fingers stroking her sensitive button. He grunts wordlessly, dropping his head back for a moment, trying to hold on.

 _Just a few more seconds…_ Then she gasps his name and he is undone, his rhythm stuttering as he climaxes, his fingers reflexively stilling until he remembers she hasn't finished yet.

"Oh!" she cries out, surprised, as he wills his fingers to move. She was already so close that it only takes a few seconds until she is trembling and pressing her face into the pillow, even biting it.

They carefully collapse to the side, Crane slipping out of her. He quickly cleans himself up, then spoons behind her. "I apologize," he murmurs after a minute.

"For what?" she asks, turning slightly. "That was unbelievable."

"For… um, beating you to the finish line, as it were," he explains.

She blinks up at him. "Ichabod. That doesn't matter," she says. "I mean, as long as I _do_ get mine, if you go first, you go first. No biggie."

He kisses her in such a way that makes her wonder about what kind of pain in the neck Katrina must have been in bed.

"I promise you I will never leave you unsatisfied," he vows.

"In bed or in general?" she asks, smiling.

"In any way of which you can think. At least, I shall always endeavor to ensure your—"

She kisses him before he starts getting verbose again. "Thank you," she whispers.

xXx

They are awoken by the distinctive scrape of snowplows outside. Ichabod sits up, startled and blinking in the dim late afternoon light. "Oh," he sighs.

"Plows," Abbie mumbles, burrowing deeper.

"You had better wake up, Love, or you won't be able to sleep tonight," he says, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face.

"Who says I'm interested in sleeping tonight?" she asks, grinning. She languidly stretches on his bed and the blankets slip downward, revealing a very enticing expanse of skin. She watches as his gaze turns hungry for a moment before he steels himself.

"We should go shovel the end of the drive before it freezes," he says, tearing his eyes away. He stands and starts looking for clothes.

"We should," she agrees, but does not sound very enthusiastic about it.

He pulls his boxers on and sits on the bed. "I, too, have no desire to take up shovel in hand once again, but this is the best time to do it, unfortunately," he sighs. "You do not have to accompany me if you are too tired or sore."

"No, I will," she insists. "I would feel terrible if you were out there in the cold and I was in here doing nothing… all warm and cozy… and probably naked…" She slowly grins.

He groans and leans over to kiss her. "Perhaps it can wait a bit…"

She gently pulls away. "No, you're right. We should go shovel now. The temperature is supposed to drop and the last thing you want are ice boulders at the end of your driveway." She pecks his lips, then gets out of bed. "Maybe after… we should see if we can get a pizza delivered out here."

"Oh, yes," he agrees, sounding very much like he did a few hours ago when they were awake in this bed.

She laughs and gets out of bed.

xXx

"The temperature is already dropping," Ichabod comments once they are back inside and changed into comfortable clothes once again.

"Yeah," Abbie agrees. "And if I never see another shovel again, it'll be too soo—hello? Yeah, hi, are you actually open? And delivering? Excellent!" She gives Crane a thumbs-up and goes about ordering their pizza.

Crane builds another fire in the fireplace, not so much for warmth but for atmosphere. "We shall dine by firelight," he declares.

"Sounds good," she agrees, bending over to get some drinks for them out of the fridge.

He sucks in a breath. "Abbie, when the pizza delivery person arrives, I think you should stay out of sight. Well, at least your lower half," he says.

"What? Oh, right. No pants," she laughs. "I thought this would be long enough, sorry."

"So long as you do not bend over," he says, slowly walking towards her. "From the back or the front," he hooks his finger into the neckline of the shirt, which is quite wide, "I think you would wind up displaying more than you intend."

"Might get our pizza for free though," she points out, grinning as he pulls her closer by her shirt collar.

"No," he possessively growls, lowering his lips to hers. A few seconds later, he moves them to one of the chairs, where he sits and places her so she is straddling his lap.

"Mmm," she hums, settling in. She rakes her fingers through his hair and kisses him, pressing against him.

Then the doorbell rings. Neither of them even heard the car.

"I'll stay over here," she chuckles. He nods and goes to pay the delivery person – who turns out to be a young woman – for their dinner.

The pizza tastes better than usual to both of them, and they don't know if it's because of their newfound happiness together or simply because it is a taste of the outside world after being trapped in Crane's small house for several days. They don't much care why, they just enjoy their meal.

"Oh, that was good," Abbie sighs, leaning back.

"Yes, exactly what I was craving," Ichabod agrees. "For dinner," he clarifies, raising a saucy eyebrow.

She laughs and leans sideways to rest her head on his shoulder. "Wow, it's late," she says, having noticed the clock.

"Yes. I hadn't realized either," he replies, nodding. "But it was already dark by the time we finished shoveling."

Abbie is silent for a moment, and Crane wonders what she is pondering. "The roads are clear," she says. She doesn't sound very happy about it.

"Yes, but it's very cold," he counters. "And quite dark."

"True," she says, a slow smile spreading on her face as she snuggles closer. "And my clothes are still wet," she adds. She didn't want her jeans put in the dryer again, so they are hanging to dry.

"And you certainly cannot go out with no trousers on," he reasons, reaching over to place his hand on her knee. He slides it up her thigh, and she moves until she straddles his lap.

"Certainly not," she echoes, nuzzling his nose with hers.

xXx

"Mmm, this _was_ a good idea," Ichabod says, covering Abbie's torso with kisses, appreciating how her skin glows in the firelight.

"I told you," she replies, sliding her fingers into his hair.

They dragged all the bedding back out in front of the fire, rebuilding the nest they made the first night of the blizzard, only this time they used more blankets as padding since they need fewer for cover. Crane was reluctant at first, but Abbie promised him it would be worth it.

Of course she was right.

Especially when she turned off all the lights, slowly undressed, then undressed him.

He kisses his way back up to her lips, nudging himself between her legs as he does so.

"Uh-uh," she says, pushing his shoulder. He takes the hint and rolls onto his back. She climbs over him, straddling his thighs, gazing down at him. "Where'd you put that… ah," she says, scooting forward and stretching over him to reach the condom box, which is sitting just past his head. The action presses her breasts into his face.

"Mmm," he hums into the soft flesh, then moves his face to close his lips over the nearest nipple, bringing his hands up to keep her there.

"Oh…" she softly exclaims, balancing over him. Her fingers scrabble for a condom, and though her attention is divided, she eventually manages to get one out of the box.

He attempts to move over to her other breast, and she takes her opportunity to return to where she was. Straddling him. In control.

Ichabod pouts at Abbie, so she leans down and sucks his protruding lower lip into her mouth, sucking on it. She bites it and he groans, his large hands squeezing her backside.

"Don't pout," she says, still lightly holding his lip in her teeth.

His presses his face upwards, taking control of the kiss from below, and moves one hand around to touch her, his long fingers sliding into her slick folds.

She pulls her lips away and reaches down for him, stroking his length a few times before quickly opening the condom and rolling it over his shaft.

"Abbie…" he sighs as she slowly sinks onto him. She wiggles her hips a bit, settling in on top of him. "You are deliberately torturing me."

"Perhaps," she answers, cocking her head to the side. She takes his hands and moves them up her body, placing them over her breasts. He flexes his fingers, lightly squeezing, then rubs his thumbs across her nipples just as she decides to move, sliding up and down.

"Ohh…" he groans, eyes drifting closed for a few moments, allowing himself to just _feel_. But when he feels her grab one of his hands again and pull it upwards to her face, his eyes open again. When she slips his index finger into her mouth and sucks on it, sliding it in and out, his eyes widen further and his jaw goes slack.

She releases his finger just long enough to say, "Your hands are incredibly sexy." Then she resumes, sucking, licking, and biting his finger in concert with the motion of her hips. The hand still at her breast remains busy, stroking and gently kneading.

Abbie leans slightly forward, changing the angle so he hits her just _there_ with every stroke. "Oh… right there," she says, releasing his finger to brace both of her hands on his chest.

"Yes," he agrees, lifting his hips to meet her, holding her hips. He wills his eyes to stay open, wanting nothing more than to watch her. "Abbie," he groans, "my beautiful Abbie…" His fingers tighten and she moves faster, her thighs beginning to tremble. "Every fantasy I've ever had… every decadent thought… they pale in comparison to—"

"Ah! Ohhhmmm…." she shouts out, gloriously shattering over him, her back arched, succulent lips parted.

A few seconds later, his fingers tightly grip her hips once more, digging in and holding as he releases into her. She can see the tendons in his neck standing out as his entire body tenses up and stills. When he relaxes again, she drops down over him, resting her head on his chest.

"You have a tendency to get talkative right before you come, do you know that?" she asks, chuckling and kissing his chest, her fingers toying with an interesting scar over his left pectoral muscle. "Not every time, but enough for me to notice," she clarifies, looking up at him.

He laughs and wraps his arms around her. "I am… somewhat aware of my increased loquaciousness in the throes of passion, yes," he replies. "But I must confess to only having a vague recollection of the things said at that time."

She lifts her head. "Really? Mr. Eidetic Memory?"

"My brain is not receiving the majority of my blood flow at that time, so you will forgive the loophole," he answers, trying to sound serious and failing.

Abbie laughs and rolls off of him and gives him a moment to tidy himself up. "It was good stuff," she says, snuggling against him. "Good stuff," she softly repeats, letting her eyes close as he pulls the blankets up over them.

-Day Five (Sunday)-

"I should go home," Abbie says over breakfast. She says it rather matter-of-factly, sounding neither happy nor sad about the prospect. She is dressed in her own clothes again. The sun is shining outside but it has gotten tremendously cold.

Crane pauses a moment before answering. "I suppose you would like a change of clothes. And, perhaps, scenery," he answers, facing away from her, head bowed over the sink.

"Ichabod," she says, standing and crossing to him. She wraps her arms around his torso, hugging him from behind. "I want you to come with me," she clarifies.

He lifts his head. "Oh," he softly exclaims. "Yes. That would be very nice indeed." He turns around and kisses her forehead.

"We'll get Chinese food," she says. "And I have ice cream."

He smiles and nods. "When is your sister due to return?"

"Not until Wednesday," she answers, smiling.

"I shall pack a bag," he says, lowering his head to kiss her lips.


End file.
